


Home for the Holidays

by Whedonista93



Series: American Herbology [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Married Couple, Meet the Family, Original Character(s), Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:33:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21897475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: “Gran wants me to come home for the holidays.”
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Original Female Character(s)
Series: American Herbology [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577362
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Home for the Holidays

Despite numerous alterations to their course and timeline, by the time December rolls around, they’ve successfully hit all forty-eight continental states, Neville’s trunk is an almost unending greenhouse with countless environments to support the plants, and they’ve decided they’re going to publish an American herbology book - they’ve already got a preliminary deal with Ilvermorny to replace their current text, and Neville’s enquired with Hogwarts about supplementing their current curriculum. 

They’re curled around each other on the rug in front of her fireplace, back in her little cabin in Washington, and he’s been gradually more tense and pensive over the last few days.

She huffs an exasperated sigh and levers herself up over him enough to prop her elbows on his chest. “What?”

He grins wryly. “Not subtle?”

She shakes her head. “Angsting all over the place.”

“Gran wants me to come home for the holidays.”

She shrugs. “That’s all? So let’s go.”

He laughs. “Just like that?”

She snaps. “Just like that.”

He closes his eyes and rubs a hand over his eyes.

“You still haven’t told her we’re married, have you?”

He moves his hand and squints up at her. “You sure you’re not an Occlumens?”

She rolls her eyes. “Your eyes were closed.”

They take an international portkey to the outskirts of London three weeks before Christmas. Hepannah pukes as soon as they land. “Fucking hate portkeys.”

Neville rolls his eyes, but pulls her toothbrush and a bottle of water out of the pack over his shoulder.

“Fucking love you,” she beams at him and makes quick work of cleaning out her mouth before kissing him.

“Love you too.”

She checks her watch. “Shit, we’re gonna be late meeting Hemione if we don’t book it.”

Neither is surprised to find Hermione, along with Ron, Harry, as well as another redhead and a blonde, already waiting for them despite the fact that they do technically make it to the Leaky Cauldron on time. Hermione launches out of her chair and throws her arms around Neville, then shoves him aside and throws her arms around Hepannah. “You didn’t tell me you were coming too!”

Hepannah grins and hugs the other woman back. “Surprise!”

The rest of the gang exchange greetings with Neville, Harry and Ron greet Hepannah as well while the other two women look at her curiously, as Hermione ushers them all back around the table. “I don’t think you met Ginny and Luna last time you were here, did you?”

Hepannah shakes her head and offers her hand across the table. “No, I didn’t. I’m Hepannah.”

“Ginny,” the redhead shakes her hand firmly.

“Luna,” the blonde smiles dreamily. “Your fangs are hiding.”

Hepannah grins, even lets a bit of fang show. “Bit of a Seer?”

“Oh no,” Luna shakes her head, but offers no further explanation.

Ginny is gaping at her.

Hepannah grins and takes mercy on the younger woman. “I’m a Shifter.”

“A what?”

“We don’t have them in Europe,” Hermione explains excitedly. “They’re native to the Continent’s indigenous tribes. They have two forms.”

Ginny’s nose scrunches. “Like werewolves?”

“Not exactly.” Hepannah answers.

“If you’re not from here, how’d you meet Hermione and the boys?”

“During the war,” Hepannah answers. Neville goes still beside her, and she suddenly realizes they’ve never actually had this conversation. She casts a glance at Hermione, and the other woman already has her wand out, subtly casting a silencing charm. She smiles gratefully. “I was an orphan at ten. I was emancipated at fifteen. The magical community is a minority no matter where we are. I’ve never been a fan of how we all seem to just deal with our own problems and ignore problems elsewhere in the community. When I heard about Voldemort, I came over to Europe. I joined the Order of the Phoenix.”

“At fifteen?” Ginny screeches indignantly.

Hepannah shrugs. “I was legally an adult. I’m not a werewolf. But most werewolves don’t know what I _am_. I tag teamed the werewolf clans with Remus.”

Neville gapes at her. “ _That’s_ why I thought you were familiar when we met. You were there, at the final battle.”

She pats his cheek fondly. “Terrible memory you’ve got there, babe, but you look mighty fine with a sword. I’m glad you didn’t recognize me then.”

Neville nods slowly. “I might’ve been scared of you if I had.”

She smiles softly. “Exactly. That never would've worked.”

“Scared of you?” Ginny scoffs.

Harry elbows her and Ron moves in a way that has Hepannah guessing he stepped on his sister’s foot. Harry shakes his head at his wife. “She’s probably one of the most dangerous people in this room, Gin.”

“I watched her kill Greyback,” Neville says softly. “I would’ve been bloody terrified if I’d remembered that when we met. I already trusted you by the time I saw you kill someone next.”

“You killed someone?” Hermione hisses across the table.

Hepannah shrugs. “Rogue Shifter.”

Hermione heaves a sigh and drops her head to the table, muttering under her breath about context.

“Think we’re done with the heavy subjects for now. ‘Mione?”

Hermione waves her wand absently and mutters the spell to end the silencing charm.

Hepannah stands and stretches her arms above her head. “Anyone have a cigarette?”

Hermione frowns at her. She frowns even harder when Ginny offers one up. “Horrid habit.”

Hepannah shrugs. “Not a habit. Just an occasional indulgence. Nev, drinks?”

He nods and moves to the bar as she steps out the back door, digging her Zippo out of her pocket to light it.

A wizard - tall, slim, pale, blond, sharp features that tickle the back of her memory - leaning against the wall a few feet away gestures toward her with a cigarette. “Do you mind? Too bloody cold to dig my wand out.”

Hepannah grins and flicks the lighter on obligingly.

He salutes her with the lit cigarette. “Cheers.”

“No problem.”

He raises a brow imperiously. “American?”

“Problem?”

He shakes his head. “No. I try not to have problems with anyone these days.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “What a boring way to live.”

Neville is leaned against the bar waiting for their drinks when he hears a familiar voice behind him.

“Oi, Longbottom, is that you?” He turns to see Pansy Parkinson sneering at him.

“Miss Parkinson,” he nods, keeping his tone even.

“It’s Mrs. Flint now, actually.”

“Poor sod,” Neville mutters before he can help himself.

Pansy’s eyes narrow as she begins to scrutinize him in earnest.

On instinct, he looks down, checks what he’s wearing. Dark boots, light, well-worn jeans, a gray and black henley under his leather jacket. And he’s sure his hair’s a mess. He also hasn’t shaved in a day or two.

“Hm,” Pansy hums thoughtfully. “Loathe as I am to admit it, the muggle look works for you, Longbottom. Even you could probably get some desperate witch to drop her knickers in that getup.”

“Not interested,” Neville starts to turn back to the bar.

“No?” Pansy raises an eyebrow. “Wizard then? Come on, Longbottom, I’m feeling charitable. Let me help you out.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“No thank you.”

“Why not?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but because I’m not interested in infidelity.”

The witch’s nose scrunches. “I didn’t mean me.”

“Neither did I.”

She blinks once, twice, three times, then gapes. “Merlin! Do you have a girlfriend, Longbottom?”

His friends have finally taken notice of the exchange and are rising from the table when the whirlwind that is his wife literally spins into his side, slipping under his arm with an effortless grace, like she was made to be just there, that always puts something within him at peace.

He tightens his arm around her shoulders as she snakes her own arm around his back. “No, Parkinson. I have a wife.”

Pansy gapes. “But… she’s…”

“Bloody gorgeous,” a new voice interjects. Neville looks over her shoulder and spies Marcus Flint.

Pansy spins and shoves him. “Your _wife_ is right here, you utter _prat_!”

“I didn’t pick you,” he fires back.

Within seconds they’re rowing spectacularly as they shove each other out the door.

Hepannah’s smoking buddy shakes his head despairingly. “Why their parents ever thought that would work…”

Hepannah snorts. “Arranged marriages are a _bit_ archaic, aren’t they?”

Her new friend shrugs. “Such is the way of wizards.”

“You two got _married_?” Hermione’s screech draws their attention.

“Oh, shit,” Hepannah curses. She turns to her new friend. “Hide me.”

He pales, which she didn’t know was possible with his alabaster complexion. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a match for your friends. I should go.”

“Nonsense,” Hepannah protests, even as she remembers who he is. “I invited you to join us and I stand by it.”

“Annah,” Neville mutters. “He’s, uh-”

Hepannah elbows her husband in the ribs. “I know exactly who he is.”

Hermione is the first to recover, and immediately offers and olive branch. “Malfoy, please, stay. Have a few drinks with us. I’ve been meaning to talk to you anyway.”

Draco freezes. “You have?”

Hermione nods enthusiastically. “You’re on the education reform committee, right? I have some questions. And Neville and Hepannah are working the rough draft of an American Herbology book that I think would be an excellent supplement to Hogwarts’ current curriculum.”

Neville is squeezing her hand so hard a normal person’s bones might creak. He might be more grateful right this moment than he ever has been before for his wife’s superior strength… and that includes the time she had to shove her Bronco out of that marsh.

She squeezes back reassuringly. “It’ll be alright, babe.”

The matronly healer at the desk looks up and notices them, then. “Neville!”

“Hello, Astra,” Neville nods.

The healer smiles. “Your grandmother said you were on an extended holiday in America. Did you enjoy it?”

“I did.”

Her smile softens into something almost sad. “They missed you.”

Neville can’t quite force a smile.

“Who’s your friend?”

“I, uh… I actually think I’d better introduce her to mum and dad first.”

“Of course, go right in.”

He looks down at Heppanah.

She smiles encouragingly.

He leads her through the doors.

“Gran’s going to kill me, you know. You’re going to be a widow. Already,” Neville rambles, eyeing the front door of his childhood home like it might bite him if he gets any closer.

Heppanah grins at him and knocks on the door.

Augusta doesn't kill him, but she spends days despairing that her grandson married some crass American instead of a proper British witch. She watches, searching for evidence that this marriage was simply a youthful mistake. 

First, she catches them slow dancing in the kitchen, in the middle of the night, to a muggle song.

Then she notices the way Hepannah's hand will drift to a jagged set of scars on Neville's arm, scars he didn't have when he left, with a haunted look in her eye. A look that doesn't go away until Neville bends his head to hers, speaking softly.

When Neville falls ill a week after they arrive, Augusta is shooed from the room by her granddaughter-in-law, forced to simply observe as the young woman flits about, not sleeping but for dozing beside the bed, caring not only for Neville, but for his seemingly endless collection of plants.

Once he's well again, they venture out to Diagon Alley to finish their Christmas shopping and restock parchment for the book they seem to spend their every spare moment on. A group of young wizards, clearly having had too much fire whiskey for such an early hour of the day, corner her an alley, uttering all sorts of filthy suggestions and derogatory comments. Augusta's hand tightens around her wand, but before she can pull it from her pocket, Hepannah is there, right in their faces, and she learns the young woman has claws and teeth as sharp as her tongue. The young woman ushers her into a sparsely occupied tea shop a few doors down and has steaming cups in front of both of them by the time she fully comes back to herself.

"Are you alright?" Hepannah asks quietly.

She nods. "I… thank you."

“My name _does_ essentially mean ‘I’ll hit you’,” Hepannah shrugs. "And you're family."

Augusta nearly cringes. "I'm afraid I have treated you rather poorly, for family."

Hepannah grins, something self depreciating in her expression. "I'm probably not what you expected."

Augusta sips her tea, finds it perfectly made, and wonders when the young woman noticed how she takes her tea. "Not at all. I expected a soft-spoken, proper British witch, from a modest family."

"And I am a brash American with no family."

"Regardless, there is no excuse for the deplorable way I've treated you. I've never seen Neville so happy. You clearly love him."

"More than I will have words to properly describe." Hepannah looks out the window, and a soft smile, one Augusta has noticed she only aims at Neville, graces her lips.

Sure enough, when she looks out the window, her grandson is ducking out of the little shop across the way. "May we start over, my dear?"

Hepannah turns back to her and smiles, big and genuine. She holds her hand out across the table. "Hepannah Longbottom. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Augusta clasps the young woman's hand firmly. "Call me Augusta. Welcome to the family."

Hepannah continues smiling as she takes another sip of her tea.

"May I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"With those young men, earlier… did I… no, nevermind. You'll think I'm mad."

Hepannah simply stares at her, waiting expectantly.

"Oh gracious…. You… did you… oh! You had fangs."

Hepannah grins, clearly bearing fangs, and her eyes bleed from dark to gold. "There's a few things I should probably tell you, Augusta."


End file.
